


Fingers in the Cracks

by RatedTForTerrible



Category: Original Work
Genre: Age Difference, Loss of Virginity, M/M, dubcon, guess I'm posting original fiction now boys, voidfucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-19 11:20:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29749728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RatedTForTerrible/pseuds/RatedTForTerrible
Summary: King Alexander Estellane is a long way from home, and every minute the clock ticks closer and closer to the day his curse will destroy him. Before that time comes, he's sworn to end the man who has condemned his family, and the world, to ruin.Ignatius Faust is that man. A man who makes pets of gods. A man who thinks that Alexander's quest is sweet, but ultimately doomed to failure.Before that happens, though... He wonders if there isn't something he can give the king. Just this once.
Relationships: Ignatius Faust/Alexander Estellane
Comments: 5
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

Alexander’s room in Diadora was separate from the others. It was a relief to have some space to himself again, but at the same time, he sort of missed the noise. He missed the sound of the fire, he missed Veld and Lynea sharing their wild stories. He missed Eve’s tea, and the way she laid her hand over his whenever she passed him a cup. The tea in Diadora was good, but it wasn’t Eve’s. He missed Syndra’s quiet presence, her steadiness, the way she’d look to him when Lynea and Veld were being particularly rowdy. He’d smile at her, and sometimes, when he was lucky, she’d smile back.

He missed Cello. It was the first time she hadn’t been at his side since they’d left Istovell and Isturia.

It was long past the point he should have been in bed, and the others were surely asleep, but he didn’t feel like sleeping. There was an anxiety under his skin that he could not name. It was only their first night in Diadora, but something seemed wrong. Something seemed different. He hadn’t been here in years, not since he’d come as a child with his parents. The city-state was as beautiful as he remembered, and Lucetta had grown into a clever and stunning young woman.

But something wasn’t sitting right with him. Maybe it was just the feeling of being back in a city again. They had been in the wilds for a long time.

He’d showered and changed into formal clothes as soon as they’d arrived, and he wore them still. The only thing he’d taken off was his handkerchief. He’d taken to tying a white handkerchief over his face, covering the lower half of it, when he realized that his mask no longer covered the cracks on his lips. Lucetta had promised to have a new one made for him, for which he felt equal parts grateful and wretched. He had swallowed his pride and asked her for two, and tried to console himself with the fact that, if they were successful, she would be well repaid for her help.

He sighed, running his finger over the edge of his mask. The view was beautiful. He had a large bay window with a seat looking over Diadora’s massive waterfront. Moonlight, so bright and silver that it was almost tangible, flooded over the water and through his window. He didn’t have a lantern on. He didn’t need one.

He sighed again and leaned his head against the glass, watching the water. The world was painted in blue and black, shot through with silver highlights. It really was a beautiful night. He should sleep, but he thought he’d stay up just a little longer. He wanted to appreciate this.  
  
Alexander stayed there for a while, breathing in time with the waves, slow and unhurried as they crawled their way up the sandy shore only to relinquish their grip and slide back into the water. He watched the boats, tied for the night, bob a little on the water. In the distance, a few more ships were unbound; night fishermen, their lights like distant, low stars over the shifting tide.

A sound from behind him made him jump, surprised, and he turned away from the window to look back into the darkened room. His door had come ajar, and the warm, rosy light from the hallway spilled in. Had someone come looking for him?

“Cello?” He wondered, getting to his feet and crossing the carpeted floor to examine what had happened. He peeked out into the hall, mindful of the fact that he wasn’t wearing his handkerchief, but he saw no one. Maybe the door was merely uneven? He pressed it closed, and locked it for good measure. If Lucetta needed him, she’d have a key, and the others would knock… or potentially break it down. But he did not foresee any emergencies on such a quiet night.

He turned, his back to the door, admiring the way the moonlight filled the room. He knew, no matter how much he tried to ignore it, that every second that ticked by brought him closer and closer to the end. One day, there would be no more nights like this. He wanted to try and enjoy these moments.

Alexander wished he could show this to the others. Lynea and Veld played at being shallow, but he knew that to be untrue. He knew that they would appreciate it just as much as the more obviously cultured members of their party. Cello might scold him for wasting time on such frivolity, but he knew she meant well. She just wanted him to focus on the important things, and he struggled with telling her how important moments like this were. It was her job to keep him focused, and it was his failing that he couldn’t show her that he was.

He was so lost in looking at the moonlight that it took him a second to realize what had changed. Suddenly, where there hadn’t been one before, there was a hat sitting on the plush cushion of the window seat. Alexander felt his blood run cold.

He was seeing things, surely. A trick of the shadows, despite the way it wasn’t in the shadows at all. There was no way such a thing could be in his room, round-brimmed and black and so much more sinister than any item of clothing had any right to be.

Alexander recognized it. And he realized, in dawning horror, that he had been the one to lock the door behind him. He’d also half-crossed the room, dreamlike and unconscious, as he approached the object of his fear. And now these realizations came crashing down around him all at once, a storm of freezing rain, and he knew he needed to escape.

He whirled, his heart hammering in his chest. He had to warn the others.

That Faust was already there, leaning idly against the door, almost wasn’t a surprise.

Almost.

Alexander stumbled back, opening his mouth to cry out, to muster some sort of warning or maybe to curse the man in front of him, but it didn’t matter because the words never came. Not magic, plain surprise and fear had stolen his ability to speak.

“Hush now, little monarch,” Faust said, a smile on his lips behind where his finger was pressed to them. “A single scream and I’ll have this whole castle crumbling down. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

Alexander swallowed the lump in his throat. He stood frozen, arms half-raised, his mind reeling through any chance he had to escape this. The window, perhaps, but he’d never get it open fast enough. His sword leaned next to the bed, well out of reach, and he kept a knife in his jacket, tucked on the inside, but this was his formal jacket, with buttons all the way to the throat. There was no way he’d get it out in time.

“What do you want?” Alexander made himself lower his arms, made himself square his shoulders and stand straight. He forced himself to raise his head, glaring at Faust with green eyes that were as of yet untouched by his disease. They would disappear eventually, he knew, but for at least this moment, they were both fixated unwaveringly on the unwelcome presence in his room. Still, his heart raced, feeling as though it might burst from the confines of his ribs and the tightly-buttoned jacket over top.

“What do I want? You already know, I’m sure…” Faust moved slowly and spoke the same way, utterly unhurried, as though he was oblivious to the tension created by his presence. Alexander knew better than to think Faust was oblivious to anything. He was a dangerous man, and he knew far too much.

“There are no gods here for you to steal,” Alexander said. He needn’t have said it. He was sure Faust already knew that, and that there was another reason for his presence. What was in Diadora that he wanted? Alexander briefly considered that perhaps he was wrong, and perhaps there was a deity tucked into the city somewhere. It was possible.

But Faust, still smiling, nodded at his words. “You’re quite right. I haven’t seen any running about… and of course, dear Zydia is too ingrained in your bones to ever make her vulnerable to me, isn’t that so?”

Alexander’s hands tightened into fists. At least now Faust wouldn’t be able to see them shaking.

“You mean to kill me, then,” he surmised. “Is that it?” In a fight, here, he stood little chance. Could he void the castle to somewhere else? Could he void _Faust_ to save them all? He’d tried to do that before, to no avail. Faust’s barrier magic made him a formidable opponent for even Alexander. But it made too much sense: of course Faust was here to kill him. Alexander hadn’t been able to defeat him yet, but he’d come the closest, and Faust badly lusted after the void goddess’s powers.

Alexander’s blood ran cold. He had been looking his death in the face for most of his adult life, and he put on a brave face for Cello and the others, but he alone knew the truth: he didn’t want to die.

Faust laughed, pushing himself up from where he had been leaning, stalking towards Alexander in fluid, easy steps.

“Kill you, your highness?” He asked, smiling. “Why waste the effort? I’ve been patient this long. Surely I can be patient long enough to watch you die.”

Despite his unhurried movements, when he lashed out at Alexander it was fast as lightning, and Faust grabbed him by the ruffles of his collar, jerking him forward even as Alexander instinctively tried to yank himself back. Faust, a head taller and broader at the shoulder, was much stronger.

“No,” he said, his voice softer now but his smile not having faded a bit. “I’ve got something else in mind.”

Alexander, his face screwed into an annoyed frown, tried to wrench himself from Faust’s grip. He felt weak, childish. Shame curled through him as he fought not just Faust, but his own powerlessness. Without his magic, without at least a sword, he really wasn’t capable of much, was he?

“What’s this?” Faust asked, his smile broadening into a grin. With his free hand he took Alexander by the jaw, tightening his grip enough that it hurt. He turned Alexander’s head to the side, his eyes immediately going to the new cracks in Alexander’s lips.

“Oh, your highness…” he said, amused. “You’ve outgrown your mask. It must be all that new magic you’re using. That wouldn’t be my fault, would it?”

He laughed, a low and eerily sincere sounding chuckle, and shoved Alexander away from him. Alexander fell to the floor. His cravat, now pulled free of him, was still in Faust’s hand.  
The fall hurt: pain flared at his elbows and the hip that had hit the ground first. Trying to catch his breath, Alexander was slow to shake off the disorientation and ache. He sat up, groaning softly, and tried to shake his head clear.

Faust paced the carpet with slow, easy steps, pulling Alexander’s cravat through his fingers, playing with it, and Alexander watched the way he carelessly toyed with it, wrapping it around one of his hands and drawing it to his lips.

Alexander wasn’t certain of his motivations, but he shivered in revulsion just the same.  
  
“I-if not to kill me, then,” he said, looking up at Faust. “Why waste your time here?”

“If it was so easy to figure out my plans, I’m sure your lot would have stopped me long ago,” Faust mused. His boots were heavy, their sound muffled by the thick carpet, but he seemed to move so easily in them, swift and calm. He did not hurry, he had no reason to hurry, but there was an ease to his pacing steps as though they were practiced and familiar to him.

“And we both know I don’t have to kill you,” he said, gesturing to Alexander where he lay, Alexander’s cravat still in his hand. “Your parents’ indiscretion will do that for me, and I have no shortage of patience. Your own choices have damned you to a future that, when you die, will leave the lady Zydia defenseless to me… but when you die, your interesting problem dies with you…”

“That won’t be your problem,” Alexander snapped. Was it a touch defensive of him? Perhaps. Judging from Faust’s moonlit smile, he thought so. “My time is limited, but so is yours.”

“Centuries of immortality disagree with you there.” Faust’s smile didn’t fade, and he took the cravat in his hand and drew it along the line of his jaw, seeming to sigh into its softness.

“You know, I was in Istovel and Isturia recently…” Faust said, without looking at him. “You study the gods long enough and eventually you run out of things to learn, but the palace library has such extensive records of the royal family… and its disease…” He tucked Alexander’s cravat into the pocket of his jacket and finally cast a glance to the fallen king. “Poor Isolde even went so far as to establish two whole royal bloodlines and look where it got her? The Oriholt line gone for centuries and the Estellane family line almost snuffed out.”

“You…!” Alexander shoved himself to his feet, all pain forgotten. “You were in my library! In _my_ records! If you hurt anyone at the castle, I’ll-”

“You’ll what, exactly?” Faust asked, his voice cutting through Alexander’s protestations. Maybe it was a shift of the light but here, finally, the cruelty in his smile was laid plain. “You’ll do what, your highness?” As he leaned closer, baiting Alexander with his ease, his smile only sharpened. “Come on. You can’t even protect your friends, let alone your kingdom. What’ll you do, really?”

Alexander lashed out. He was not a man who lost his temper easily but he could not stand to be mocked by someone like Faust, and his punch hit the taller man right in the jaw. Faust staggered sideways, and Alexander fell back a step. His hand bloomed with pain but he didn't even feel it.

Faust chuckled, rubbing his jaw, and the laugh softened into a groan. "Oh, I bet the captain taught you that one, didn't she?" He straightened, moving his head to ensure nothing was broken. It wasn't. "It would be just like her, teaching you to hit above your weight…"

"I'll show you what else is just like her," Alexander threatened. He raised his hand to hit Faust again but he wasn't fast enough. This time, when he struck, Faust was counting on it.

He sidestepped, and caught Alexander's wrist in a vice-grip, twisting his arm behind him and drawing the king against his chest.

"I don't think so," he murmured, pulling harshly on Alexander's arm and making his shoulder ache fiercely. "It's my turn to show you something…"

"Let go of me," Alexander hissed, and Faust laughed. He did no such thing, his free hand finding purchase at Alexander's throat, pulling him closer. Alexander knew his punch had been sloppy. Back home, Cello would have almost certainly put him in the dirt for it.  
  
He only had himself to blame for acting so incautiously, and he was sure to pay the consequences of it.

Faust nuzzled into Alexander's blond curls and did not even pretend to hide the way he breathed him in, groaning softly to himself. Alexander shuddered in his arms, but he didn't seem bothered by that.

"You smell so good…" Faust breathed the words against the curve of Alexander's neck. "So… alive."

When Alexander spoke, it was through teeth gritted closed with pain. “S-still have a little time left. Enough time to stop you.”

Faust smiled. Alexander could feel it, the curve of his lips, warm against Alexander’s skin. “Are you sure about that?”

“I will _make_ sure.”

Faust made a sound so soft and low in his chest it was almost a purr. Alexander felt it as much as he heard it. His fingers tugged open the button at Alexander’s collar, popping it free from his jacket. It rolled somewhere on the floor, quickly forgotten as Faust’s searching fingers pressed inside, eager for skin. He didn’t strangle Alexander, as much as the king feared he might. That didn’t seem to be his goal.

His touch was so warm. It almost burned, like taking a shot. It threatened to make Alexander just as weak, too, the strange headiness of it making him struggle to swallow. He tried to breathe, to focus on the pain in his arm, anything to cut through the strange feelings of Faust cradling his throat in his hand.

Faust’s hand twitched; Alexander’s breath caught, his heart jumping. Faust laughed against his skin.

“Didn’t think you’d be into that,” Faust mused. “Should I be rougher with you, my king?”  
  
Damn him! What magic was it of Faust’s that made his voice so low and coaxing that it felt like being wreathed in smoke? What spell made Alexander shudder at the tightening of his hand, at the brush of his lips against Alexander’s neck?

Breathless already, Alexander cursed and tried to wrench his arm free.

Faust let him go, and all the extra momentum from trying to free himself had Alexander tripping over his own feet and ending up on the carpeted ground again. This time he was grateful for the fall. The pain cut through the dizziness of Faust’s presence, and the gasp it earned from him felt like the first real breath of air he had taken since Faust pressed close to him.

The blueblack darkness of the room made it feel like another world. It seemed impossible to reconcile the heavy nighttime around him with the idea that earlier in the day, sunlight had flooded through that same window. It was as though Faust had brought this darkness with him, that the darkness _was_ him.

Alexander shook his head and pushed himself to his feet. It was just a trick of his feelings, a trick of the pervasive nature of night. Was night time not the time when despair seemed easiest? But Alexander would not let himself despair, not here, and not in front of Faust.  
  
He rubbed at his neck with one gloved hand, the material soft against his skin. Faust hadn’t hurt him, but his skin seemed to burn like a brand where he’d been touched. That too was a trick, surely.

Faust’s blue eyes watched him, fixated and hungry. Alexander did little more than glance his way before he saw the way Faust was grinning at him and quickly averted his gaze instead, still rubbing at his throat.

He swallowed, feeling it against his fingers. Faust’s hands had been a little roughened, and had been far more confident, and no matter Alexander’s attentions he couldn’t quite mirror the way it had felt… and why did he want to?

His shoulder ached from the way his arm had been pinned back, and his hand still hurt from where he had hit Faust, but the ache of these things seemed to only make him more aware of himself and his feelings. The awareness was not a gift: he would much rather push those feelings aside, if only he were able.

Merely being in Faust’s presence was maddening. Having been touched by him was something else entirely.

“It’s not the same, is it?” Faust asked, tilting his head. “How long have you been without the touch of a living, breathing person? How can a man be expected to live like that…”  
  
“What?” Alexander’s attention snapped to him with an almost audible sharpness. “What are you talking about?”

Faust took a step forward. Alexander took a step back. Faust’s smile was irritatingly knowing, his condescension utterly unfeigned.

“A man cannot live on bread alone,” Faust said. “You and I might be different, but we aren’t so different as to save us from man’s fatal flaw: we need others, your highness. Our bodies crave the presence and nearness of others. Even those who don’t need sex need intimacy, and you’ve gone your entire life without either.”

“I know what I gave up,” Alexander said, straightening to face Faust again, shoving his fear and his uncertainty down with all the strength he could muster. There were forces at work here that perhaps he did not understand, but his sacrifices were something he was all too familiar with. He understood them just fine. “I know what I’ve denied myself and I know why I did, and none of your virulent lies can change my mind.”

“Ah-” Faust smiled and shook his head, going so far as to shake a finger at Alexander as though he were a misbehaving child. “That’s where you’re wrong, your majesty. You don’t know what you’ve given up. You have no idea what you’ve robbed yourself of. For a noble cause, I’m sure…” This time when Faust stepped towards him, Alexander was too focused on his words to bother with recoiling. “But the fact of the matter is that you don’t know what you’ve forsaken, and your shortsighted decision is coming back to haunt you.”

“Shortsighted,” Alexander scoffed, scowling darkly. “Like hell. My marriage would kill my partner if I consummated it. I refuse to be another link in the chain of suffering!” He shook his head, his eyes narrowed at Faust, who did not seem bothered by his stormy expression. “I am not haunted by making the right choice, Faust.” Alexander refused to flinch in the face of him, in the face of this. Perhaps that was another mistake.

“Yes, you are.” Faust grabbed the front of his jacket, but there was barely any distance between them now for him to yank Alexander closer. Alexander’s hand grabbed his, but any efforts to free himself were half-hearted. He told himself it was because he knew there was no way he’d break Faust’s grip. It might not have been true.

“Look at yourself,” Faust coaxed, his voice dropping low. “You loathe me, and yet your heart races at my touch. You’re so feverish with skinsickness that you’re a danger to yourself… and to others.”

He was right. That damn headiness again, like a miasma that surrounded him. Alexander’s grip shifted, no longer trying to pry Faust’s hand free, he braced his hands against Faust’s chest and tried to push him away. He was no more successful there.

“I’m _not_ -” Alexander insisted, trying to ignore the waver in his voice. “I won’t hurt anyone else, I refuse.”

“Always the good king,” Faust said. Though Faust wore layers of his own, Alexander could feel the heat of him pressed against his chest. “I know you could never be so greedy as to inflict your suffering on another…”

Faust smiled, but Alexander couldn’t see it. Faust was pressed so close, leaning down to look into his eyes in such a way that his expression was no longer visible. But he didn’t need to see his lips to know what they were doing: Alexander had seen him smile plenty of times and could easily tell from the man’s eyes alone.

"But you are suffering, aren't you?" Faust asked. "Even if you didn't realize it until just this moment…"

"So _what_?" Alexander couldn't bring himself to raise his voice but he at least managed to summon up some sharpness for it. "You're telling me what everyone else has been telling me for my entire life. Get married."

Faust laughed, but it was a terrible sound. Quiet and bitter and so strangely warm. Alexander knew at once that he'd never forget that sound, even if he wished he would.

"Your highness," Faust teased, "You're going to make me blush. Marriage? We barely know one another."

It had its desired effect. Alexander startled, trying to stumble back but getting nowhere, Faust's grip on him far too tight for him to put any space between them. Faust's other hand smoothed its way, thoughtfully, up Alexander's arm.

"You are too precious," Faust murmured. "I'm not talking about something so civil as marriage, my king. I'm talking about sex."

Alexander’s expensive royal education meant that he was perfectly familiar with the mechanics and functions of sex, but it did not mean that he expected it to be spoken about so plainly and he felt himself blush despite his best efforts. He hoped that the darkness of the room would at least rob it of its colour but from Faust’s chuckling he did not think he was so lucky.

“Looking a little warm there, Alexander,” Faust said. “Maybe I can help with that.”

Alexander had the sudden and wild idea to demand that Faust never say his given name again. He hated the way it sounded on his lips. The mocking use of his titles wasn’t pleasant, but they were easily ignored. There was something pervasively intimate about the way Faust said his name, and he couldn’t stand it.

But to say that out loud would be to admit how deeply Faust unsettled him and he could not allow himself to do that.

“ _You_ ,” he hissed instead, scowling. “Boasting about your immortality and in nearly the same breath condemning yourself to my fate. Do you think your defeat could tempt me?”  
  
Faust hadn’t released him. Wouldn’t release him. The hand that had been going up and down Alexander’s arm shifted, pressing to his lower back, ignoring or embracing the way Alexander shuddered and tried to pull away.

“You think that would kill me?” Faust asked, one eyebrow arched. The sharp features of his face made for sharper shadows, and Alexander’s eyes were caught between the predatory glint in Faust’s eyes and the way his tongue traced over the long line of his lower lip. “I hate to break it to you, your highness, but I’m immune to your little disease.”

“In fact,” Faust said, stroking his thumb over the damask of Alexander’s jacket, the action eerily affectionate, “I’m the only person alive you couldn’t kill like that. I wonder what that could mean..”

“Nothing!” Alexander snapped. “It doesn’t mean a damn thing and you know it!”

“Shhh~” Faust let go of his jacket to press a finger to his own lips. “Hush now, your highness. Remember what I said. Raise your voice and pay the price." Freed from Faust's grip, Alexander tried to pull away, but the arm Faust had around him was enough to keep him in place.

"I don't care if you're…" he searched for the word, his brow furrowed. "Immune to me. I don't care. What bearing does that have on anything?" Considering it now, it really was no surprise that Faust was immune. He seemed utterly unshakable. The idea that something so unimpressive as a curse could kill him seemed hard to believe.

"What bearing indeed…" Faust mused. Alexander tried to shove him away, but Faust only wrapped his other arm around him, ducking his head to press his cheek against the cold porcelain of Alexander's mask, murmuring his words low into the other man's ear.

"Isn't that what you've always wanted, Alexander? A chance to explore those feelings? Imagine… you could do that, and no one has to die…"

His breath was warm against Alexander’s skin and Alexander fought the inexplicable urge to close his eyes. Something about Faust’s voice wormed its way into his senses and made it so hard to think clearly.

“The things you feel now are nothing compared to what I could make you feel,” Faust said. “All those years of being alone… So lonely and curious, grieving for what could never be yours…” His lips brushed Alexander’s ear. “I’m here to give that to you, Alexander.”

Alexander’s eyes fluttered closed and Faust pressed a kiss to the spot under his ear. He could feel the instant that Alexander stopped fighting to pull away from him, and he smiled to himself.

“Don’t you deserve that?” He asked softly. “After everything you’ve given up, after everything you’ve been through… Don’t you deserve this one thing for yourself before your time is up?”  
  
They were both going to die anyways, Alexander thought. His own clock was ticking down, every moment closer to the end… and Faust was not a man who was defeated, he would only settle for being destroyed. If it was Death that awaited both of them, what difference did it make if he gave into this?

Faust pressed another kiss to his neck, slow and warm and insidious.

“I…” Alexander swallowed. He couldn’t possibly consent to this, could he? This twisted humanization of the enemy would only make things harder for him.

“It won’t hurt,” Faust promised, “Not any more than you want it to…”

Alexander shuddered, but tilted his head to give Faust better access as the man pressed another kiss against his skin.

He wanted this. He wanted this heat.

“Alright…” He agreed softly. “Fine. You… have me.”


	2. Chapter 2

Faust made a soft sound, less of a purr and more of a growl. Alexander had never heard anything like it… and he wasn’t sure how it made him feel. He didn’t have much time to think about it, because soon Faust’s rough hands were pulling at his buttons, tugging them undone.

“W-” He stammered, unsure if he should pull away, unsure if he wanted to. He hadn’t expected this, the fervor with which Faust would take the next step. His heart beat in his throat, and though there were many buttons on his coat, Faust seemed to have little trouble yanking it open.

Most of his buttons survived. He thought he may have lost another one at the bottom, when Faust impatiently wrenched his jacket open. He wasn’t sure. He didn’t look.

“Faust-” This was more. This was worse. This was _better_ , Faust’s hands pulling him close, fingers winding in the material of his waistcoat as Faust pressed more kisses to the curve of his neck. Alexander was shaking, even such little contact making him tremble, and he hesitantly tried to focus on moving his arms. Until moments ago, he had been trying to shove Faust away from him. He really hadn’t touched him at all, not like this.

He could feel the silk of Faust’s scarf, the wool of his coat, the slickness of his tongue as he sought out the place Alexander’s pulse beat against the skin of his throat.

“Faust, I-” A hint of teeth against his skin made him shudder, but he didn’t dislike the feeling.

“You do know my first name, don’t you?” Faust, still holding him firmly by his waistcoat, leaned back a little to look at Alexander’s face. He was smiling, amusement shining in his eyes. “You must know by now, surely.”

“I-it’s… Ignatius…” Alexander said, trying to catch his breath. His head was spinning and they hadn’t even lost their clothes yet. They hadn’t even kissed yet. “Your name, your first name, I mean…”

“You can use it, if you like…” Faust murmured. “I’d like it if you did…”

Maybe a first-name basis was a little too close to be to your enemy, but he was about to get a great deal closer and Alexander couldn’t find a reason not to use it.

“Ignatius…” Alexander said, softly, as though trying the name out, testing the way it sounded, the way it felt, the way it tasted. Hearing it only made Faust’s smile widen.

“It’s a bit old-fashioned,” he admitted softly, leaning close again. Alexander’s breath caught, though Faust hadn’t done anything yet. “But I’ve always liked it.”

He pressed a kiss to Alexander’s lips, a kiss that Alexander only half-felt because of his mask. He knew what Faust was doing, he knew what Faust was trying to make him feel, make him think, but it worked just the same. He wanted his mask off. He wanted Faust to kiss him properly.

The mortifying ordeal of being seen. Not even his companions had seen his true face.

Faust’s hands were on him again, undoing his waistcoat, brushing it aside, now there was only his shirt between Faust’s hands and his skin, and he could feel the heat of Faust’s touch through the fine fabric. It felt like it was enough to set him alight.

“Ignatius, I…” He wasn’t sure the words, and Faust’s touch wasn’t making it any easier.

“Hmm…?” Faust’s stubbled cheek against his own, rough and strangely exciting. Faust’s roughness was frightening, yes, but it was thrilling, too.

He couldn’t explain, the task was too monumental, too personal. His hand was shaking as he pulled away from Faust and it earned him a curious look, but it didn’t last. When Faust realized what he meant to do, that sharp grin of his returned. Maybe it should have deterred Alexander, but it did no such thing.

He wanted to feel that smile against his lips.

Alexander reached up, the feeling of the porcelain under his fingers utterly familiar to him. Steeling himself, he took a deep breath… and pulled.

He couldn’t see himself. He could only see the way Faust reacted to seeing him. There were suddenly a hundred things to notice. Faust's eyes sharpened and, like his smile, there was something dangerous in that look, something that Alexander knew he didn't understand but that he didn't have time to prepare for. They were pressed so close that he felt the way Faust's breath caught, felt the way Faust's grip on him tightened.

His lips drew back over his teeth in something that was almost a snarl. Alexander watched his expression raptly. What did that mean? And why did it make his heart race?

Faust had known that Alexander wasn’t hard on the eyes. Were it not for the curse that ate away at him, he would have had the countenance of a fairytale king. He had a sharp jaw and blond curls and those pretty green eyes that Faust had grown so fond of. Alexander still possessed the leanness of youth, and in some ways, it was his youth that made Faust’s heart beat so hard. Alexander was a man who should have been just stepping into his prime but instead… he was crumbling into nothing even as Faust held him close.

And to Faust, who sometimes felt as old as sin itself… there was something about Alexander’s youth that called to him, inexorably, like a siren’s song. The young king of Istovel and Isturia, barely a man, so deeply good and kind and so profoundly inexperienced, and here he was in Faust’s hands, inches away from ruin.

Some of Faust was human still, after all these years. Surely no one could expect him to resist this?

But of course, it was not merely Alexander’s blooming manhood that was so interesting to him. Fair skin and high cheekbones had long since ceased to be enough for him. Ravenously, his eyes went to the place where Alexander’s skin ended, the ragged line, almost-center of his face where peach soft skin faded to darkness. It was a beautiful contrast. For now, Alexander still had his left eye and a small patch of skin beneath it, but beyond that, the majority of his face had disappeared, replaced by an impenetrable darkness. The edges were ragged, fractured fingers reaching out to take more and more of him, but where he’d already been conquered there was nothing but darkness.

Reading about the curse in the very comfortable palace library was nothing like seeing it firsthand. Faust wanted that darkness with something more than simple lust… but the lust was fun, too.

Moments ticked by in the quiet darkness but Faust didn’t move, didn’t let Alexander move, his grip on him still bruise-tight as he stared at him, taking in every detail with open hunger.  
  
“I-ignatius?” Alexander murmured, feeling like an insect pinned to a study board. “Is something wr-”

And then Faust kissed him.

This was a real kiss, unlike the tease of the first one. Faust closed the scant distance between them, the sharp line of his mouth meeting Alexander’s surprised expression. With Alexander’s jacket and waistcoat undone, he tucked his hand under the back of his shirt, roughened fingers against warm skin as he held Alexander close to him. His other hand buried itself in those golden curls, trapping Alexander exactly where Faust wanted him.

Alexander fought, a little. In his surprise, he squirmed against Faust’s chest, gasping into the kiss and struggling to figure out how to respond. His first real kiss and he was left defenseless in the face of Faust’s ravenous desire. Faust tasted of slick heat and something _dark_ and Alexander made a soft, displeased noise at the touch of Faust’s teeth, nipping at his lip, but he didn’t pull away. None of it made him pull away, not Faust’s cruel grip or the conquering nature of their kiss.

When they parted, finally, they were both breathless. Faust was still smiling.

“That wasn’t so terrible for a first kiss, was it?” He asked. “Show some courage, my king. I haven’t hurt you yet.”

The reward for his taunt was Alexander’s scowl, petulant and young, and the way the king pulled him into another kiss. It was, of course, exactly what Faust had wanted.

Alexander was uncertain and unpracticed but he was so honest, delightfully sweet and totally unable to mirror the roughness that Faust had bestowed upon him. There were no edges in this kiss, no teeth, just desire, sweet and soft. Faust made a sound of approval low in his throat and this time he got to feel, skin to skin, the way Alexander shivered.

Just for fun, he tightened his grip, digging blunt nails into Alexander’s back. Alexander whimpered into the kiss, and then something strange happened: part of Alexander’s back seemed to give way under his hand, the heel of his palm sinking into the skin.  
  
When Alexander gasped, the kiss broke.

Faust did not pull his hand away. He could not see what happened, but he could guess. With enough pressure, he’d breached the darkness that made up so much of Alexander’s body, part of his hand dipping painlessly into the void.

Or at least, it had been painless for him.

“I haven’t hurt you?” He murmured the question against Alexander’s lips. He still hadn’t moved his hand. This time, when Alexander shuddered (something about Faust’s voice, spoken with such care, even if it was a lie…) Faust could feel it that much more deeply.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Alexander said. “It’s not pain, it… I can feel it, I can feel you, on the inside…” His voice wavered a little to admit it, and Faust had to wonder if he’d ever told anyone about that little trick before. Somehow, he didn’t think he had.

Faust didn’t pull his touch away. He only shifted it, so he could find the seam of Alexander’s skin with his fingers, dragging his touch over the ragged edge of his back. To Faust, it was a strange but not unpleasant feeling: the edge of Alexander’s skin was soft and had a little give to it. If it wasn't for the odd, uneven nature, it felt precisely like the rest of his skin. And it was so warm against the cool of the void.

He could feel the way Alexander squirmed against him, trying not to flinch from the unusual feeling. When Faust grew a little more daring, pressing his fingers under Alexander’s skin and into the void there that was waiting to break out, it earned him a panicked gasp.  
  
The hand he had buried in Alexander’s hair tightened a fraction of an inch, an involuntary twitch mirroring the sharp spike in desire he felt in his gut. Alexander made a soft, displeased sound to have his hair tugged, but that did nothing to dissuade Faust’s desire.

“Every time I think I understand you, you get a little more interesting…” Faust pressed a kiss to the corner of Alexander’s mouth. “You’re just full of surprises.”

“I’m not sure that I am the one who is surprising,” Alexander remarked, frowning faintly. Faust smiled and kissed him again, so much more gently than before.

“You said ‘yes’,” Faust teased. He smoothed his hand over the vague shape of Alexander’s side, relishing the feeling of the coolness of the void until his touch found skin once more, his hand pressed to Alexander’s stomach. He finally let go of Alexander’s hair, stroking his fingers down the part of Alexander’s neck that he was able to reach.

“Let’s unburden you a little, shall we?” Alexander mourned the loss of Faust’s warmth as he drew his hands away, instead using them to brush Alexander’s jacket and waistcoat off his shoulders. Alexander shrugged out of them, trying to help, and they fell to the floor. He did not think about the knife, still in his jacket pocket, that tumbled out of reach.

“We’ve created...something of a disparity…” Alexander murmured. Faust could practically see the blush that lit his fair cheek, even in the darkness. Faust’s eyes were better than most, after all. It did not help Alexander that his attempt at hiding it was very poor. He turned away from Faust, obviously shy, but with his usual concealment missing it did little but show Faust more of what he wanted: the void that ate away at his skin, where it cracked and fractured that half of his face. He struggled with his boldness. Would he have the courage to follow through with his flirtation?

Tentatively, he stroked his hands up Faust’s chest and pulled Faust’s scarf from his shoulders. Like his clothes, he let it fall to the floor, the whisper of silk barely audible over the noise of his heartbeat.

“A step in the right direction,” Faust said. “But one step hardly makes a dance worth remembering.”

“Are you tutoring me?” Still he blushed, but Alexander looked up at him with an arched eyebrow. Faust had to admit he was delighted by this. Alexander’s shyness was adorable but that he would try to hide it with feigned arrogance was funny twice over. Faust wasn’t sure Alexander had ever been genuinely arrogant a day in his life.

“We could call it that,” Faust agreed, clearly amused. “What a privileged role I have, to tutor someone so beautiful in the ways of the flesh…”

He succeeded in making Alexander’s blush all the darker. Faust rewarded him with a kiss, and with starting to undo the buttons of his shirt. The kiss seemed to rouse Alexander from his reticence, and he tugged open Faust’s jacket with unpracticed but careful fingers. It made a great deal more noise when it hit the floor moments later, the material so much heavier than his scarf.

It was strange seeing him without his coat. His appearance had always been so consistent, his hat and his scarf and his jacket. Alexander knew the floral pattern on his scarf even if he couldn’t see it in the dark. He was familiar with the charcoal darkness of Faust’s coat. He hadn’t seen him without these things, even when they had been formally introduced in Sovaria. Faust simply was not Faust if he looked any other way.

But here he was. He was...staggeringly normal, in a simple dark shirt and slacks made out of something rougher, something that could hold up to travel in a way that Alexander’s current attire could not.

It was incredibly unnerving, he had to admit. Thinking of Faust as a normal man seemed like a dangerous thing to do.

He was blessed that he wasn’t given much time to think about it. Freed from the weight of his coat, Faust was all the more eager to pick up where they had left off. His fingers, so much more practiced than Alexander’s, got to work on the many, many buttons of Alexander’s shirt.

Having grown up with such clothes, Alexander had never thought to be annoyed by them. It occurred to him only now that he did not care for formal-wear. Had he been in traveling clothes, they would have long since finished this.

Perhaps he was a little impatient. He could blame Faust, and partially he did, but all the same… Faust was only the goal of his impatience, not the source. That the man made it harder on him was surely only human.

If either of them still could be called that, of course.

Before his shirt could join the growing pile of clothes, he had to take off his gloves. He did so with very little ceremony, pulling the silk from his fingers with his teeth. He dropped them, thinking he might pull himself free of his shirt or at least tug some of Faust’s buttons loose, but he didn’t get the chance.

Faust grabbed one of his hands, utterly fascinated by the place where void met skin. He twined their fingers together and held Alexander’s hand up so that he could examine it more closely.

“With your gloves on, I had no idea it had progressed so far…” And if Alexander had any naive imaginings about Faust’s intentions, about any potential sympathy that the devil might have for him, well, it was dispelled here. Faust’s lust for him was incredibly real, but equally real was the man’s disregard for his life.

It was not a comfortable feeling, but Alexander’s lust burned too hot for him to let something so small as Faust’s contempt get in the way.

Faust drew his thoughts with a hungry smile and then, without an ounce of shame, he brought Alexander’s hand to his lips and licked a slow, heated line from Alexander’s wrist all the way up his index finger. His eyes flicked to Alexander’s, mischievous, and he took two of his fingers into Faust’s mouth.

“Oh-” Alexander gasped, surprised, and he felt Faust breathe a laugh. His mouth was slick, and there was something filthy about the way his tongue wormed between his fingers. Alexander watched, raptly...and flinched, when Faust pressed his tongue into the void of his hand.

“I-” his breath hitched, and he could feel Faust’s tongue against his skin, pressing into each divot and crack. “Ignatius, I..”

Faust hummed, pleased with himself, and Alexander felt teeth where Faust’s curious gentleness turned to curious cruelty. With his other hand, Alexander gripped Faust’s shirt, trying to keep his legs from collapsing under him.

Was it always like this? Or was this simply because it was Faust who was doing it?

“Better hurry-” Faust pulled Alexander’s fingers from his mouth and panted the words with a grin, “My hunger isn’t so easily sated and there are still far too many clothes in the way.”

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Faust’s mouth made it incredibly hard to focus.

With shaking fingers, Alexander pulled the rest of the buttons of his shirt undone. He could not rid himself of it, nor of the vest that Faust had already opened, when Faust had his hand in his unbreakable grip. He did what he could. It was fumbling, clumsy work and he leaned weakly against Faust’s chest as he did it, his breathing ragged and hot. With the cuff of his shirt undone, Faust’s mouth went lower, sucking at his wrist where Alexander’s pulse beat against the skin.

Feeling the heat of his tongue press into the void of his wrist, Alexander groaned. The sharp intake of breath that followed it only filled him more with the scent of Faust.

“Let’s get these out of the way-” Faust’s other hand, on Alexander’s hip, started to pull at his loosened clothes. He let go of Alexander’s wrist and found a new place to busy himself with. There was, as of right now, no patches of void that followed the curve of Alexander’s neck, at least not on that side… so when Faust sunk his teeth in, he only tasted skin.

Alexander cried out and if Faust hadn’t caught him he really would have fallen. The bite was not harsh enough to break skin, the obvious goal was not to wound him, but it hurt in a way that made his lust flare harshly, like a crack of lightning racing through his veins. Was roughness truly so arousing? Was this something he had been robbed of the chance of discovering with someone who loved him?

Faust tugged him back to his feet, sucking a kiss-bruise into his skin and it was with relief that Alexander let those thoughts slip away.

He shrugged his shirt off, shivering when Faust ran his hands over his newly-exposed skin. The air in the room was cool but he was warm, so warm, a fire burning inside his skin and there seemed to be a miasma of heat around Faust, of heady warmth, and as long as Alexander stayed pressed close to him, he did not feel cold.

Content with his mark, Faust trailed more kisses over Alexander’s neck and collar, and Alexander set to work on evening the score between them as he undid the buttons of Faust’s shirt.

Faust had reign over him, over his body, but Alexander’s curiosity grew alongside his lust.  
  
He wanted to taste Faust like this, too.

His shirt was easier than Alexander’s own, and despite his difficulty with such small tasks, it soon joined the rest of their clothes on the floor.

“Much better…” Faust pressed a warm kiss to Alexander’s throat before pulling away to look at him. “Don’t you think?”

Looking at the bare expanse of Faust’s chest, broad and well-defined and lightly veiled with dark hair, Alexander had to agree. Faust was not so broad as Veld, who was a head taller than him still, but there was a clear physical strength to him that Alexander hadn’t expected. Faust was a manipulator and a sorcerer… and the muscles in his chest shifted as Faust moved, reaching to tilt Alexander’s chin up and draw his gaze toward Faust's eyes.

“Distracted?” He teased. That grin. There was something insulting in it. Alexander, his chest patterned in darkness and his neck covered in Faust’s marks, did not look remotely as calm as the other man. But he would not let Faust win so easily.

He ducked his head under Faust’s jaw and mimicked as Faust had done to him, but gentler. He kissed there, warm and wanting, pressing them to Faust’s skin as he tugged at the man’s pants. Without looking, he got them undone easily. Faust chuckled, tilting his head back to let Alexander kiss where he pleased. Alexander’s kisses were careful, thoughtful, as though he was teaching himself the very geography of Faust’s body. If nothing else, Faust certainly thought he could get used to the attention.

And, when he smoothed his hands down Alexander’s hips and roughly back up again, groping his ass as Faust pressed close to him, he got to feel the way the king gasped against his skin.  
Alexander was hard, straining against his slacks, and Faust’s own pants had half-fallen from his hips.

“You’re not done,” Faust reminded him, his voice low. His hands still rested on Alexander’s ass and every time they moved, stroking over the shape of him, he felt Alexander jump. “You’re not nervous, are you?”

“I’ve never done this before,” Alexander reminded him needlessly. As though Faust could ever forget. “Of course I’m nervous.”

Faust looked down at him, and it was as easy as a shift of his hands and then Alexander’s pants were also undone. He could almost watch the blush rise in the shorter man’s cheeks as he felt them start to sag.

“Off with them…” Faust murmured against his lips. In the kiss that followed, Alexander felt teeth. “And everything else, too.”

Alexander thought that there was no graceful way to complete such an action but Faust disagreed. He stepped back just a touch, just enough to watch, and Alexander dutifully pushed both his pants and his underclothes down his body, stepping out of them shyly but without faltering. The earnestness of it all made it lovely indeed, Faust thought.

Everything that was revealed was lovely, too. Truly, all of Alexander was inviting: hips and thighs that were shapely and athletic, and an ass that was soft under Faust’s hands when they soon returned there.

And his cock, of course. Modest and unpresuming, achingly hard and eager to be touched. When Faust drew him near again, Alexander couldn’t help the way he rocked his hips against Faust’s own.

“You know what comes next, don’t you?” Faust wondered. He kissed the corner of Alexander’s mouth, then his cheek, waiting for his answer. He saw the way Alexander had to swallow before he spoke, and it made him smile.

“If you mean to take me, then… yes, I know what is next,” Alexander admitted, his voice almost a whisper. His blush had returned, fierce and bright. “I...well, I cannot take you without some preparation.” Alexander’s hands found purchase on his chest, and Alexander focused on the shape of him, fascinated by the swell and fall of Faust’s muscles.

Faust chuckled. “You could…” He murmured the words against the shell of Alexander’s ear. “I could make you. I could take you by the hips-” his grip there tightened and Alexander’s breath caught, his heart racing, “-force you down onto the carpet and _make_ you take me, your highness. Do you know how that might feel?”

Slowly, Faust licked around the outside of his ear. Alexander shuddered hard against him.

“I-” Alexander stammered. “I-it would hurt, I know, I’ve r-read-”

“But you’re not shaking with fear, are you?” Faust asked. Alexander’s words made him smile. He knew… because he’d read about it. For what purpose, Faust wondered? A warning, of some sort, something instructional… or for personal reasons? Judging from Alexander’s reaction, he thought he knew the answer.

“You like that idea…” Faust teased. “You want to set down your burdens and give into that weakness. You like the idea of being taken… of being forced.”

“And _you_ like the idea of forcing me,” Alexander shot back, finding his courage. Faust laughed and shifted to kiss him again, properly. He smiled into the kiss, but Alexander did not.

“Maybe I do,” he said. “Maybe I think you’d be very pretty, struggling around my cock like that…” The tone of his voice made it ever so clear that there was no ‘maybe’ about such a thought. “But not tonight. Tonight, if you want me, you have to earn me.” He felt Alexander shiver at the thought. “And I don’t intend to rush.”

Faust kissed him again, carelessly shoving his own pants down his hips and stepping out of them as he walked Alexander back towards the bed. Alexander shuddered at the press of skin, at the heat, at the sudden intimacy of Faust against him as the man guided him back and carefully but ungently manhandled him down into the bed itself. It wasn’t until the kiss broke that Alexander actually got a chance to look at him, and when he did, he found himself speechless.

Faust laid alongside him, bare of all coverings. Alexander could not reconcile what he had expected with what he saw. He thought that Faust would be leaner, sharper, but he wasn’t. His muscles, larger than Alexander expected, gave him a strange softness. His chest and thighs were dusted with dark hair, oddly inviting to the touch.

Of course, the same dark hair could be found between his legs, and from it jutted that which stunned Alexander into silence. Surely it could not be so large as it looked. Surely that was Alexander’s own inexperience…

“You cannot make me believe that you’ve never seen someone undressed in this way,” Faust joked. He was utterly at ease, lounging against Alexander’s bed and laughing softly at his surprise. His words, at least, roused Alexander into speaking.

“I have-” he said, though he only glanced up at Faust’s eyes briefly before his gaze was pulled back to his cock. “Just… never…”

“Never seen a cock you meant to take.” Faust smiled knowingly. “It’s different, isn’t it?”  
  
He leaned in closer, nuzzling against Alexander’s cheek. “Go on,” he coaxed. “You can touch me. I’d like it if you did.”

Swallowing, his mouth suddenly dry, Alexander reached out to him. He stroked his fingers down the length of Faust’s cock, unable to help the way he admired it. Truthfully, he was not shockingly larger than Alexander himself, but the size difference wasn’t just noticeable, it was profound in some way that Alexander could not articulate. His cock was heavy in Alexander’s hand, thick and hot and just starting to bead with desire. Experimentally, Alexander stroked his thumb over the head, swiping the precum up with his finger and spreading it over Faust’s skin.

Faust did not seem to mind his experimentation. He sighed, sinking down a little into the bed, and rocked his hips encouragingly into Alexander’s touch. Alexander took that as his cue to keep going.

He wrapped his hand around Faust’s cock, stroking him slowly, watching the way it looked for his hand to move over someone else’s skin. He traced the shapes with his fingers, acquainting himself with the ridge of the head, with the pattern of the veins. He was not thoughtless of the way he shifted down the bed for a closer look. It was a deliberate choice, and he tried to ignore the way his fascination made him feel shy.

Faust didn’t seem to care, though. He reached down, carding his fingers through Alexander’s golden curls as Alexander got a better look at him. It was easier now to wrap both his hands around Faust, and he did. Faust meant for him to… Well, surely that couldn’t be as impossible as it sounded, right?

And he was lying if he said the thought wasn’t appealing.

He bit his lip and looked up at Faust, and something about that, about that perfect expression, made Faust’s hand tighten in his hair. Alexander tensed, but he didn’t pull away.

“Is it… may I…?”

Faust didn’t wait for him to find his words. He didn’t care what Alexander was asking permission for. He wanted it.

“Yes,” he breathed, rocking his hips into Alexander’s touch. “Yes, you may.”

Alexander hesitated and Faust could have cursed. Alexander’s hands, moving so slowly up and down his cock, his mouth, which was right there, so close…

Alexander seemed to agree, and he opened his mouth, his breath so warm against Faust’s skin. It was everything Faust could do not to close that gap. Carefully, gently, Alexander did it for him. He tasted Faust’s cock, dragging his tongue up its length, humming thoughtfully as he traced over the ridge of the head, as he licked up the dripping precum. Faust groaned, shifting under his hands. Alexander was unpracticed, unpolished, but that didn’t matter here. The gentleness of it, the very care of it… if Faust hadn’t been so damn distracted by his fraying self-control, he may have felt rather fond of the idea that Alexander treated him with such tenderness.

But for now, his thoughts were very firmly on how good Alexander’s tongue felt, and how badly he wanted more.

Alexander grew a little bolder as he explored. The way he handled Faust grew more comfortable and confident, and he stroked Faust as he tasted him. He did not draw Faust wholly into his mouth. Maybe he was unsure that he could… or perhaps he was content to tease him by pressing kisses up the length of his shaft. It was impossible to tell if Alexander’s choices were sweetness or malice but it hardly mattered. That he would choose to be kind, or choose to be cruel, both were appealing to Faust.

Perhaps too appealing. Faust’s control frayed, then snapped.

The fingers he had twisted into Alexander’s hair tightened and his free hand found its place against Alexander’s cheek, taking hold of him firmly so that even when Alexander squirmed, and he did, he could not free himself.

“What are y-” For not the first time, Alexander lost his words as Faust forced him closer, anything he might have planned to say vanishing from his lips, replaced with a tense, unsure sound as Faust ground his cock against the damaged part of Alexander’s face.

It was hot against his skin, uncomfortable where it rubbed against him roughly and yet Faust groaned low in his throat, reveling in the friction. Alexander’s skin was soft against his cock, and the ridge of bone that was his cheek felt great as Faust rut against it. Just as good, though far stranger, were the places Faust could feel nothing but cool void. The edges of Alexander’s skin, ragged and delicate, were so warm in comparison. And, when he pressed a little harder, he felt himself sink into that odd coolness and he shuddered. Alexander made an uncomfortable sound, flinching away from that feeling but he didn’t get very far.

Nor could he protest with Faust’s hand so firmly around his jaw, even as Faust luxuriated in the contrast between his warm skin and his endless void.

The deep satisfaction of it was accompanied by a not-unexpected feeling of victory. After all, if this wasn’t King Alexander Estellane tamed then what was? That both his body and his curse provided such physical pleasure was almost an afterthought… or would have been, if Faust didn’t find himself panting and rutting against him, taking that pleasure for himself. Alexander screwed his eyes shut and recoiled from Faust’s desires, but that didn’t stop him.  
  
Besides, even like this he could not hide the way Faust’s actions made his heart race and his hips grind against the bed. Faust breathed out a ragged laugh. Alexander really was full of surprises.

When he pulled Alexander free of him the motion was soundless except for Alexander’s noise of almost-wounded confusion. Faust’s grip still tight on him, he looked up at Faust, his cheeks flushed red and a smear of precum under one of his eyes. Faust pulled him up the bed as Alexander scrambled to try and help, and Faust licked the mess off his skin with a vicious smile.

“It’s dangerous to tease me like that, Alexander…” He warned. “I could lose control…”

His words, and his grip, made Alexander shudder. Sweet boy. He was so easy to tease.

Faust chuckled softly and drew Alexander into a kiss that the man hastily returned.


	3. Chapter 3

Alexander pressed close, leaning into Faust's softening touch, finding the ways that the lines of his body met the lines of Faust's and settling into them, a perfect fit. Faust’s cruelty moments ago was far from forgotten, but it was not enough to keep him away.

Faust wrapped an arm around him, and the hand he had tangled in Alexander's hair loosened its hold and carded through the soft gold curls. This could be different, Faust realized. If he was different, all of this could be different. He could have this...and keep it, maybe.

But the cost of that was himself. Did he really want this that badly?

No. Of course not.

But tonight, at least, he wanted it a great deal.

Alexander tasted sweet, no trace of the bitterness he had cleaned from Faust's cock. He gave himself wholly to Faust's warmth, stroking one of his hands over his chest, his shyness mysteriously disappeared where he could rely on the bravery of his affection to carry his heart.

He would not have such grace for long. Faust was certain of that.

Faust pushed him down against the bed, tugging him by his hair but also pushing him down by his shoulder. Alexander fought, but only briefly. Faust had no trouble setting his own gentleness aside to break through his meager rebellion, and when Alexander made a soft, petulant sound into their kiss, Faust eagerly devoured it. There would be many more of those sounds soon, he knew. He was hungry for them.

When the kiss broke, Alexander was breathless, his lips kissbruised and his expression heartbroken. “Ignatius…?” He wondered, as Faust pulled free of his grip. It was no surprise to see him look so upset. He was still, instinctively, looking for something in Faust he would not find: real intimacy, and the shared vulnerability that came with it. Only one of them had surrendered, and it was not something that Faust had forgotten.

“Now, now…” Faust chided, smoothing his hands down Alexander’s chest as he shifted his weight down the bed. “You know I can’t stay there if I’m to give you what you desire…” He stroked his hands over Alexander’s hips, watching the motion with interest. His hands were so pale against Alexander’s skin. Even here, where his skin was fairer, it had still known the touch of sun. Faust took his time, dragging his fingers down the shape of his thighs, watching the way his skin gave way under his hands. The play of moonlight and shadow over the indents he created was oddly beautiful… but more beautiful still were the cracks of darkness where he could dig his fingers inside Alexander’s body. He did, and watched raptly as Alexander gasped and writhed against the bedspread.

With a curious smile, he even went so far as to curl his fingers under the edges of Alexander’s skin, and to drag his nails along the underside. He heard Alexander’s breath catch, watched him twist his fingers into the coverlet and felt him squirm, though it was unclear if he was trying to escape the feeling or press back against it. Faust wasn’t sure that Alexander even knew what he wanted.

“Uncomfortable?” He wondered. “Should I stop?”

He dug his nails in more deeply and won himself more than a gasp. This time, Alexander softly cried out, his back arching as his body desperately tried to make sense of what it was feeling.

When he settled, albeit only slightly, he was left panting and straining for more of Faust’s touch.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’, then…” Faust mused, and pressed a kiss to Alexander’s hip.

He loosened his grip, going so far as to pull his fingers from the void so that he might turn his attention to the task at hand. What he needed was in his coat pocket, but that was no issue to him. A mere flick of his fingers and the vial extracted itself, finding its place in his hand without any trouble.

He settled himself between Alexander’s legs and smoothed the touch of his free hand over his thigh, sighing as he got comfortable. Alexander propped himself up on his elbows, watching Faust with a mix of guarded curiosity and glassy-eyed desire, but Faust knew it wouldn’t last. A few minutes, and Alexander would be back where he belonged: writhing under Faust’s hands.

Nuzzling his stubbled cheek over the inside of Alexander’s thigh, he uncapped the vial and poured some oil onto his fingers. He was careful in this, more concerned with wasting it than he was of making a mess, but the true cause of his delay was merely to torment Alexander, who watched his every move.

He recapped the vial single-handedly and dropped it back onto the carpet. Now it was time for the real fun to begin.

“Tell me…” he drawled, tugging Alexander closer by his hips, circling a single, slick finger around his hole. “When you thought of this… Who was it with?” He pressed a kiss to Alexander’s skin. “Your first time… surely you’ve considered it…”

Alexander, heart fluttering in his chest, hastily looked away. But it didn’t last. He couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off of Faust, even if it meant sparing himself embarrassment.

“A-at first, when I was much younger…” He trembled under Faust’s teasing. “My combat instructor. He was older than me, and I thought that surely he must know everything-” Alexander swallowed, and Faust was graced by an embarrassed but sweetly earnest smile. “I was very young. After that, one of my tutors, I adored her because she was so patient with me…”

His smile faded, not not because Faust’s teasing increased. Maddeningly, Faust had not pressed forward yet.

“But into adulthood… No one.” He shook his head. His breath hitched at a slightly more daring press of Faust’s finger, but the man would not let himself get too bold. He wanted to hear these answers. “Once I knew the cost…”

“Were it only so easy… the fantasies of what we wish we could have…” Something in Faust’s answer made Alexander look at him quizzically, but it seemed that Faust was done toying with him.

He pressed a single finger into Alexander’s waiting body, and his thoughtful expression was replaced by a devious grin as he watched the shudders that ensued. Alexander’s arms did not yet fail him, but Faust knew they would in time.

“T-tell me yours,” Alexander demanded, the request softened by the whine that Faust earned next. “You have to tell me yours…”

“I _have_ to do nothing…” Faust teased. He pressed a kiss to the place where Alexander’s thigh met his hip. “Besides, it was so long ago… I barely remember them…”

He was lying. Alexander did not need to be able to focus to know that he was.

A second finger joined the first, and any ability he had to reason fled him along with his breath.

“A-ah-!” He tensed, his head instinctively tilting back. He missed Faust’s devious grin, but Faust couldn't help himself. How sweet, that Alexander’s first instinct was to bare his throat in submission. Faust pressed his fingers deep and watched as Alexander trembled, panting as he tried to adapt to the feeling, the fullness of it.

He whined, softly. Faust’s fingers felt impossibly large. There was simply no way that they were the same hands Alexander had fought against earlier. They must have been, but they were too warm, too big. But the roughness of them, the touch that was just-shy of cruelty, the way Faust knew to push past the bounds of what was comfortable and into the places inside him that made him panic… that was undeniably Faust.

And he did panic, a little, when Faust spread his fingers and Alexander thought for a minute that he might actually die from the way his heart jumped. His back arched and he made a soft aching noise. He felt Faust chuckling but didn’t hear it over the sound his blood made as it rushed through his veins. Faust settled his fingers close to one another again and pressed them deeper into him, and Alexander weakly pressed back against him. He wasn’t sure if he wanted Faust to do it again. He thought that he did.

“Fallen apart after merely two fingers…” Faust teased. His voice was soft and fond and he spoke to Alexander with an unearned familiarity. Or maybe it was earned, by now, but it still made Alexander shiver just the same. “How will I ever fit?”

He said it just to torment him. It worked.

“Please,” Alexander panted. Faust roughly pressed his fingers against part of him that made his entire body tense and arousal spiked in him. “Ignatius, _gods_ , please-”

“I’m not a god, my boy…” Faust kissed his thigh. “Not yet. And none of them can help you here.”

Alexander raised his head. It was comical, perhaps, the look of alarm in his eyes and the fact that this fear hadn’t at all doused his arousal. Faust met his adorable naivety with a smile, and Alexander watched as he shamelessly licked the palm of his free hand, utterly unabashed, and then wrapped his fingers around Alexander’s cock.

“You can take a little more for me, can’t you, Alexander?” Faust encouraged, thrusting his fingers into him even as he stroked Alexander’s length. “I want to see you take another… I did say you’d have to earn it.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, starting to work a third finger into him before Alexander could muster up the words to respond. Alexander was moaning freely now, trying to swallow the sounds he made and failing. It felt good, Faust’s hand around his cock, slicked with spit and his own precum. It felt more than good. The fingers stuffed inside of him made it impossible to catch his breath, thick and hot and Alexander knew that if Faust set his mind to it, he could tear Alexander apart just like this.

But he didn’t do that. He worked slowly. Roughly. In and out with his fingers, up and down with his hand. No hurry, and no gentleness. Alexander squirmed and struggled and pressed back against every awful touch. He wanted more than this. He needed it.

“Ignatius,” he panted Faust’s name and there was desperation in his voice that made Faust ache for what was still to come. “Ignatius, please, I did it, I did it, please-”

Sweet boy. When Faust leaned forward a little and took Alexander’s cock into his mouth, Alexander cried out so loudly that anyone in the hall surely would have realized what was going on. But they couldn’t hear it. The sound, and the taste, were for Faust alone.

And he didn’t linger there. He stayed long enough to torment, to stroke his tongue along its length and then the heat and slickness are gone and so were his fingers, callously pulled from Alexander’s pliant body.

“You did,” Faust agreed, his voice low. “You did, and you will be rewarded.”

He pulled himself up Alexander’s body, and what a sight he was. His face was flushed, his lips bitten-pink, his skin lightly sheened with sweat. There was arousal in his eyes, the way the irises were huge and dark, but there was fear there, too. It was a look that suited him very much, Faust thought.

Alexander could only look up at him, utterly lost. He knew what came next. He asked for it. Begged for it, even. He knew… and yet he didn’t, because he was aware that what he knew wasn’t enough.

And Faust looked down at him, his wild burgundy curls, his vicious smile, the sharp shadow of his silhouette in the moonlight. He was many things that Alexander could never be, a few of them because he knew he would never get the chance.

That he was unattainable was both a relief and a tragedy, Alexander realized.

Faust settled in against him and Alexander greedily pulled him close.

They kissed, matching in hunger but Alexander still could not, would not, match his roughness. His mouth was soft and eager and Faust thought that he would very much like to bury himself in it. Another time, he thought, and was surprised with himself. When had once turned into twice?

He made sure to mark Alexander’s lip with his teeth, though he wasn’t sure if it was for himself or for Alexander. Alexander cried out and rutted their hips together, and Faust jerked back against him, meeting the movement instinctively.

No more teasing. It was time to take what he had come for.

He reached between them only briefly, to press himself to Alexander’s waiting body. In his arms, the king jumped, nervous. Faust chuckled… but there was an edge of raggedness to it. He was impatient now. Deeply so.

“Deep breath, your highness…” He warned. “This may be a bit of a struggle.”

Faust could have been more careful. He could have been slower and more thorough, made it painless and dreamlike for the poor man. But he didn’t. He wanted it to hurt, just a little. He wanted it to be real. He wanted to feel the way Alexander tensed around him in that moment of panic where he wasn’t sure he could take it.

It was everything he dreamed of, and more.

“Oh, gods-” Alexander gasped, feeling Faust press into him. His fingers hadn’t prepared him for this, for the world of difference that was Faust’s cock opening him up. The sheer intimacy of it was terrifying. If the bed was the earth upon which he laid then Faust was the entire sky, and more than that even for the way he was everything in this moment. The very air Alexander breathed was laced with his heat, with his scent.

And of course, the way he opened Alexander’s body around him. Alexander could have fought, he could have struggled (and he did struggle, truly, but not to get away), but he wanted this with a need that was new and strange to him. It ached, burning where he was stretched and where he wasn’t yet opened. Faust rocked against him, and then back again, working himself deeper inside of him with every press forward.

Alexander tried to meet his thrusts, to press back against him, but one of Faust’s hands pinned his hip firmly to the bed.

“You wanted this, Alexander,” Faust panted. “You’ll take what you’re given.”

Alexander’s body tightened around him, and he buried his face against Alexander’s neck when he groaned. He stayed there, breathing in Alexander’s nearness until their hips met. He was shaking, he realized. He knew why. The restraint it had taken to be slow, to luxuriate in Alexander’s discomfort… it was wearing out. He would not last.

Every breath a soft sound of need, Alexander was trembling, too. His grip on Faust was panic-tight and every time he squirmed, he shifted around Faust’s cock. Faust’s grip on him tightened, some of his fingers sinking into where the void had eaten away. Alexander flinched, and Faust rut into him harshly.

“Is it everything you wanted?” He growled the words low against Alexander’s throat. “Is it?”

But Alexander couldn’t answer. He tried. He swallowed and groaned and tried to find the words but nothing came. It was too much. Faust was too much, inside and out.

Faust licked a hungry line up his throat to his ear, nipping there and chuckling darkly when it made Alexander flinch again. Alexander's every nerve was raw and screaming, but he could do nothing but try to breathe and to beg Faust to move with everything but words.

"Let's see if I can't make the king of Istovel and Isturia scream until he loses his voice."

Alexander didn't have time to think about the bitterness that dripped from Faust's words. He didn't have time to think about anything, because suddenly Faust was moving. Faust dragged himself from Alexander's body, the friction of it making him dig his nails into Alexander's skin, where there was skin to be dug into. Then he was pushing himself back in, a sharp thrust that buried him deeply in Alexander’s heat and made the younger man cry out.

It didn’t hurt, not really, but there was an impossible ache in Alexander, soothed and exasperated in equal amounts by Faust fucking into him. His arms were wrapped around Faust’s shoulders, one of them twined into the hair at the back of his neck, and he tried to anchor himself to Faust, to use that to rut back against him but he couldn’t, he was still pinned to the bed. All he could do was arch his back and let his anguish fall from his lips.  
  
And fall it did, with every thrust.

Without thinking, Alexander loosened one of his hands from Faust’s shoulder and reached between them. He got nowhere. Faust grabbed his wrist, hard, and shoved it back against the bed.

Weakly, he tried to free himself, but there had never been any hope of that.

“Absolutely not-” Faust punctuated the words by tightening his hold on Alexander’s wrist and thrusting into him roughly. “There will be no mercy here for you, Alexander. Not until I’m satisfied. And I am _far_ from satisfied.”

He shifted his grip, freeing Alexander’s hip only to take him by the jaw and jerk his head to the side. The pressure of his wrist against Alexander’s throat did not make breathing easier, and his breath was already laboured by the thrusts of Faust’s body, by the cries that were forced out of him. Faust watched him and, with his head turned, it was hard for Alexander to return the favour. But he saw something in Faust’s eyes. Something terrible.

His legs were wrapped around Faust’s waist and they already trembled with every thrust but when Faust bent lower and licked along the cracks of Alexander’s face, his whole body reacted. Faust’s heat reached deep inside of him, ruthless in the way he fucked into Alexander’s body, filling him utterly with his impossible, melting heat. Being full left Alexander scrambling for coherence, struggling to make sense of the overwhelming sensations, but every time Faust drew his hips back it didn’t result in relief. All Alexander felt was a moment of living torment as he waited briefly, desperately, to be filled again.

Where Faust’s tongue pressed into him was hot, too. Alexander could feel it, heat pressed into the empty coolness at the edges of his senses. He could feel the man’s mouth tracing the cracks of his skin, tasting them, pressing his tongue between them to get deeper inside of him. The scrape of teeth followed and Alexander’s voice cracked, the stimulation altogether too much for him.

He kept trying to pant Faust’s name, his words weak and compulsive. Faust’s hunger for him was devouring. He could not mark the void, but he could mark Alexander’s skin and he did, the cracks in Alexander’s cheek and neck were soon patterned with marks from his teeth.

Faust released his jaw, and tightened his grip around Alexander’s throat instead. He could kill him, maybe. Tighten his grip right here and watch the life dim from his eyes. Or maybe Alexander’s magic would save him. It had before.

But even with his hand around Alexander’s neck, the king’s head was thrown back, offering it to him. Faust had mastery over death, but this was something else entirely.

He only used it to pull Alexander into a broken, unsteady kiss, both of them too breathless for the real thing. Then he released him, smoothing his touch down Alexander’s chest so he could finally take him in hand. Alexander’s cock was slick with his own precum, and the way he jerked against Faust’s hand was deeply satisfying to watch. That it moved him so sharply on Faust’s cock was only so much better.

“There’s a good boy for me…” Faust’s voice was rough. He had not been silent; even as Alexander’s cries were so much louder, his own groans of pleasure had left their mark on him. “You’ve earned this, Alex… and so have I.”

It was too easy for Alexander to fall apart for him. Easier still when Faust kissed him, coaxing and deep. He shattered like crystal, fine and sharp, and spilled himself over the both of them with a wordless gasp. Faust fucked him through his orgasm, not stopping stroking him until he had wrung every last drop from his body.

But he wasn’t done with Alexander yet.

Faust released his wrist so he could take him by the hips with both hands, digging his fingers into skin and void alike as he selfishly chased his pleasure in Alexander’s overstimulated body. Alexander curled against him, clinging to him immediately, gasping and groaning as Faust fucked him into the bed. He was still dizzy off the power of his own relief, unable to even struggle as Faust used him so greedily.

When it hit, after minutes of panting and groaning and the sound of skin on skin, Faust’s orgasm staggered him, crashing into him like a crested wave. His thrusts became stuttered, unsteady, and he emptied the very depths of himself into Alexander’s warm, waiting body. Trembling under him, Alexander whimpered through the last of his ragged thrusts, until Faust eventually fell still.

They were both sweating, made filthy with the results of what they had done. Faust’s smile was tired and stunningly handsome… but no less dangerous.

He kissed Alexander slowly, and finally loosened his grip on his hips. Soothingly, he stroked his thumbs over the skin there as he eased Alexander back down into the bed. Alexander had been beautiful from the start, but this was special indeed, seeing him exhausted and vulnerable, his hair tousled and his eyes still glassy. This was a scene that Faust would not soon forget.

When he lifted a hand to Alexander’s cheek, Alexander nuzzled into his touch reflexively. He was clearly worn out, his movements slow and weak, but it was he who asked the inevitable question, not Faust.

“Now what?”

Two words. And for as much as Faust was the one who set the wheels in motion to lead to this exact moment, he had to admit to himself that he had no better answer than the king.  
  
But he wasn’t going to admit that.

“Now…” he said, his voice low, and he pressed a kiss to the spot under Alexander’s ear. “Now, you sleep, your highness…”

Alexander’s eyes fluttered closed. He was tired. More than tired. Gods only knew how late it was, and after everything… he was exhausted. But to sleep? To just...sleep? After all that? He made a soft noise of disagreement, and shifted around where Faust was still buried in him.

“Sleep?” He opened his eyes. “You can’t be s-”

Faust pinned him, one hand against his chest, and jerked into him sharply enough that Alexander lost his words. Then he pulled free of him. Alexander cried out, more softly than before, simply unable to summon such volume any longer, and Faust’s parting left him Alexander shivering and breathless.

“Yes, sleep…” Faust said, and the next kiss was pressed to the still-existing spot just under Alexander’s eye. “Sleep, before you do something else you’ll regret.”

Alexander’s eyes flickered open, tired and succumbing to Faust’s words whether he wanted to or not.

“And you?” He asked softly.

“And me what?” Faust asked, grinning that sly grin of his. He winked at Alexander, and stroked his thumb down his cheekbone to his jaw. “Not to worry, your highness. You’ll see plenty of me in the days to come.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are. I don't know what to say for myself. What did you expect from me?  
> Anyways, hope you liked it.


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